


Butterflies Fly Away

by Rainbowrites



Series: Month of Friendship [5]
Category: Glee
Genre: Friendship, Gen, Thanksgiving
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-30
Updated: 2012-11-30
Packaged: 2017-11-19 23:25:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 913
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/578788
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rainbowrites/pseuds/Rainbowrites
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Blaine and Quinn meet up, and talk. They are more similar than words can say.</p>
<p>
  <em> “Don’t worry,” she said automatically, “it won’t leave any permanent marks.” I’ll still be beautiful. </em>
</p>
<p>(prompt: Quinn + Blaine "homecoming")</p>
            </blockquote>





	Butterflies Fly Away

**Author's Note:**

> Title comes from Miley Cyrus' "Party In The USA" which is horribly catchy, and also because my tag for Quinn is a butterfly. She metamorphasized, and she is so goddamn beautiful it hurts (and butterflies are poisonous, dontcha know, so don't mistake beauty for delicacy)

“Your hair is longer now.”

Quinn turned, her lips quirking up in a faint smile. “Your hair is still gelled.” She didn’t quite know how to feel about that.

He ducked his head in acknowledgement. “How are you?”

She licked her lips, tasted the fake cherry coating them. “I’m doing great. Straight As.”

His smile was so honestly happy that she quailed before its brightness. “I knew you would.”

The air sparked against her lungs when she breathed in, igniting with the oxygen to make fire burn in her belly that sends up dry heat to scorch her throat and bring tears to her eyes.

“Quinn?”

“Santana slapped me.” She said, because it was true and easier than trying to figure everything else out.

“WHAT?” Blaine was immediately by her side, tipping her head at an angle with the very tip of his finger to examine her cheek.

“Don’t worry,” she said automatically, “it won’t leave any permanent marks.” I’ll still be beautiful. 

Seeing Blaine scowl was strangely lovely, especially since it was on her behalf. “That’s not the point,” he growled.

“No” she allowed, “But it makes it easier to bear in the mean time. This too shall pass.”

“I Corinthians 10:12,” Blaine said. His fingers hovered over the reddened skin. She could feel the warmth of his skin; it was almost as good as touch, and wasn’t just that the story of her life? 

“I know,” she rolled her eyes. Nobody knew the Bible better than someone who grew up with it as bedtime stories, branded into their brains and injected into their veins like heroine, and then turned around and said  _no_. She remembered the way he’d looked as a child, so solemn in his tiny bow tie as he opened his mouth for the sacrament. He’d sung beautifully then too, lifted up onto his tiptoes by the buoyancy of his love.

“So why did she slap you?” Blaine grinned wryly, “And how many times did you get her back?”

“Only once,” she said regretfully, “Brittany came in before either of us could break out the razor blades.”

Blaine was polite enough to not quite roll his eyes, but he examined the ceiling studiously before looking back down at her. “So what did you do?”

Quinn rolled the words around her tongue like a mouthful of blood before spitting them out. “I’m all excited about another guy defining my life.” They tasted a little like  _I even loved some of them_. But rancid, gone bad and putrid. 

“Is he?” Blaine didn’t say  _did you fall off the bandwagon again?_ but she heard it just fine.

“No,” she grimaced at the bitter taste of the lie, like almonds and cyanide. “What about you?”

He’s close enough that she can feel him tense. “What do you mean?”

“Kurt didn’t come home for Thanksgiving. Even if I wasn’t getting weekly updates from Rachel I’d be able to guess something fishy was up from that.”

“Thanksgiving is about coming home,” Blaine fiddled with his bowtie. “New York is his home now.”

“Bullshit.” Blaine’s widened eyes would have made her laugh if she hadn’t been so angry. “Lima will always be all of our homes. McKinley will always be a home for us.” She shivered, teeth aching from gritting them against the cold She missed the way the New Direction’s member’s shoulders would rub against hers, the way they’d huddled together a little closer during the winter. Figgins never paid for proper heating, the tightwad.

“The choir room is our home,” she said fiercely, because she didn’t know what she would do if that essential fact, that cornerstone on which she built herself, was taken away from her. “Lima will always be home, whether they like it or not. You can’t help where you're from.”

Blaine’s eyelashes quivered, the tiniest ripple in his body that set off a chain reaction that ends in him shaking so hard she was afraid he would shatter if she tried to touch him. “I cheated on him.”

“Oh Blaine,” she sighed. There wasn’t really anything she could say to that. Her fingers hovered over his shoulder. He was still shaking. “I lied,” She blurted out. “I was. Defining myself by him. I was so alone, and he just-” she shrugged, glancing up to avoid his eyes as she felt a bitter smile work its way over her face, “wanted me. It was easy, to fall back into that.” It felt familiar, when everything else was an unholy combination of brand new and terrifyingly recognizable. She hadn’t quite realized how many other girls there would smile like her mother, or how many men would have her father’s loud voice.

It was a huge cliché, but she really did feel lighter after she admitted it. She wondered vaguely if this was why Catholicism was so popular, you got to admit your sins and offered absolution. Her cross was smooth under her fingers when she toyed with it. Protestants were less forgiving.

Blaine slowly reached out, and rubbed his thumb over her cheek. She caught it with her own hand, closed her eyes and leaned into the touch. It was the first time someone had touched her like this in a long time. She memorized the feel of his fingers, the gentleness of his hand. Swallowed it down to take back in her stomach with her to Yale like a burning coal from her home’s hearth.

“Welcome home,” he said softly.

**Author's Note:**

> for the record I am Protestant and just alskjdflask CHARACTERS BELIEFS DO NOT ALWAYS REFLECT THE AUTHOR'S


End file.
